


No Love Greater

by JanuaryBlue



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Amaurot (Final Fantasy XIV), Amaurotine Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Angst and Feels, Asexuality, Deep discussions about Philosophy and the nature of love and the human experience, F/M, I have at least three more chapters of this, I'm so sorry, POV Second Person, Philosophy, Self-Indulgent, This is what I've been doing since November started, Truth with a capital T, Unrequited Love, WoL is asexual I'm telling you right now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 09:30:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21407989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanuaryBlue/pseuds/JanuaryBlue
Summary: There is no love greater than that of the Truth; thus once spake the people of Amaurot.What is your Truth?
Relationships: Hythlodaeus/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Hythlodaeus, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	No Love Greater

It is not as though it is a _shameful _thing, of course – nay, it is good form to be mindful of one’s own nature and the humble realities of the human condition. Ultimately, human beings, no matter their grace or distinction, are still animals.

But there is a certain respect afforded to those who bore no such base instincts at all. The truest of loves, after all, is born not of the flesh, but of the soul, a thing entirely apart from such banal things as physicality or proximity. True love could not be directed at a body at all – it was not so simple a thing as to be tied to any physical form or object.

The people of Amaurot pride themselves on the Truth – to love it, respect it, and seek it for all their days. It is, in the eyes of many, the ultimate act of grace.

They are a people who strive to be ideal in all aspects, to acknowledge each failing and correct it, to improve themselves and their world every day in what ways they are able. Every day, to improve yourself and the world around you; to leave behind a greater world for posterity, as your predecessors once did for your sake, asking naught in return, just as those who came before them, and before them, up the long and noble chain of history that made up all of human achievement, culminated in this moment now.

In study, purse the Truth. In Creation, pursue the ultimate extent of your own creativity and imagination. In relationships, pursue the truest, and most ideal form of love.

For that reason ones such as you are considered by far the most desirable, the purest of lovers.

Not purity in the sense of physicality, but in the sense of desire; those lacking the drive for copulation are assumed to be driven solely by the desire to bond with another. To become one in the flesh is not a shameful thing; it is a natural thing. Nothing which is natural can be shameful, though many such impulses are better off ignored – not that sexual desire is one of them.

But to become of one _soul _– by far, the purest expression of love that exists. The desire to know one another as well as one knows oneself; the desire to know one another’s every thought and the willingness to accept each and every one of them, to accept every feeling and to give in return all of oneself.

That’s all a soul is, really – thoughts, feelings, experiences. And they can be shared just as easily as flesh and presence. But to know another’s soul is a far more lasting thing; to have shared another’s soul, a far deeper, and truer form of love.

And the people of Amaurot do strive for Truth in all things, to achieve in all aspects of their lives the most ideal form of whatever it is they pursue.

Even their customs reveal their bias; though the desire for physical intimacy is not shamed, one’s flesh is not a thing to be flaunted. Though it hardly stops many a fervent youth and even more fervent adult, the tradition of masking one’s face, covering up one’s figure and form is a cherished one.

Are they not all bodies, in the end? Those who find themselves dissatisfied with their form can alter it, in any case; it is as superficial an attraction as the frivolity of clothes and costumes. Still, many find joy in lovers who are to their particular tastes; whose appearances are particularly pleasing. A fine thing to enjoy, but a trifling intimacy compared to the ideal. And a body is a body, no matter its appearance.

But there is a certain sort of person for whom the body itself is not even a draw. A kind of person who could never look at another and feel the desire to have sex with them. Ones such as you.

It is… more complicated than that, sometimes, but as soon as you see him walk up to you, you know he means well. The man gives of a gentle, compassionate air; his soul speaking of one who is deeply empathetic and eager to know about those around him, though his constantly averted gaze and careful demeanor speak heavily of introversion and a contemplative nature.

Still, there is only one way to really know a person; and here you are, being presented with such a perfect opportunity. Meeting new people, making new friends; a most attractive prospect.

So you welcome him, evenly, posturing respectfully to acknowledge his presence.

“I… Greetings, honored scholar,” He says with a little bow; you have to pull your lips out of a smile as he asks your name, hesitant, clearly familiar with your achievements.

How bold! He really _is _about to ask. A pity there isn’t much of an audience – he must have intentionally waited to get you into a less public area, but then, that is a show of consideration on his part, not to make a spectacle.

You give him your gentlest, most calming smile. “Any friend of Hythlodaeus is a friend of mine, yes.”

“Hades,” He introduces himself, returning your warmth with a nod of his own, “He is a close friend indeed. We have known one another since we were children.”

You could have hardly missed it; Hythlodaeus spoke well of him during your acquaintanceship. The strong bond between the two was alike to the bond between brothers; perhaps even greater still. Hythlodaeus put the care and comfort of his friend above nearly everything else in his life.

“You rejected his advances.”

That. Was _not. _What you had been expecting.

At all.

“Did you accept them?” You say, somehow keeping your voice something close to steady.

Hades nearly jumps at the suggestion, his attention yanked tight as if from a leash, “I – of what do you – Hythlodaeus is my treasured friend and companion! He has been, for centuries! To speak of _advances_–”

Cutting himself off abruptly, he glances over at you, finally sizing you up.

“I jest, my friend.” You say, calmly, folding your hands in one another. “You spoke as though they were such a terribly valuable thing, these ‘advances’. Of course, I did not mean to imply your friend felt attraction for you when you did not reciprocate it – how terrible a fate that must be.”

Understanding comes to him instantly, a thing most shameful indeed. 

You are kinder than he had realized; his insensitivity is now clear. It must have sounded like some sort of confrontation, to your ears, and the way he has said it, so disgusted... Acting so repulsed by the idea of his friend holding attraction for him – how must your entire _life _be, surrounded by people like that?

“I – I apologize. Is it true that you…” Ah, there it is. They always hesitate like that, search for the right word. Perhaps he’d even chosen what to say in advance, but hesitates, now that he must say it. “…That you do not experience the longing for the flesh?”

Your laugh is entirely unintentional; really, it’s not the _worst _phrase you’ve ever heard.

“Longing for the flesh!” You chortle quietly, and he looks away, but you can catch pink dusting his cheeks just under the mask. His pale complexion does him very few favors in that regard. “I do consume meat, you know. Just-”

“Do not!” Clutching at his own mask with a free hand, he groans, “Hythlodaeus is bad enough.”

Ah.

“Isn’t he just?” A wry smile passes over your face, “What with his _advances _and all.”

The man across from you gives an endearing _hrumph _and crosses his arms. For your part, you simply go on smiling serenely, breathing deeply, but calmly.

“Was that what it was?” He asks, and you feel your hands curl at your sides, your smile wavering, “You do not find anyone attractive?”

This calls for a direct attack.

“Not at all. For example, _you _are positively gorgeous!” You tell him, widening your smile, and it feels just a bit truer at the sight of him twitching before you.

Hades looks _surprised. _Bashful, even. Lips twisting above that perfectly formed chin, the angles of his face catching shadows even in the soft starlight, “Ah, forgive me. I thought you did not…?”

“I have no desire to have sex with you,” You say, and watch him wilt a little at the statement, the silly boy, “But I still do have a sense of aesthetics, you know. I can even tell you I think you are attractive! I just would not find _myself _sexually attracted to _you._”

“Would it be true?” He’s looking away now, in a way that could almost be cute.

“Would _what _be true?”

A pink tongue darts between those perfectly formed lips, for but a moment, wetting them. “That… you think I am attractive.”

“Why else would I say it?”

Scoffing and crossing his arms, he meets your… neck, by the angle of his eyes. “_Plainly, _you derive significant entertainment from teasing me. I would prefer you conclude with your taunts and be done with it.”

“Peace, friend.” You did not mean to offend him – not as he had been relatively amiable, so far. “From my perspective, I only voice an opinion. I mean not to unsettle you.”

“That, I doubt.”

That draws a laugh from you. “Only a little teasing, then. But I only speak the truth, you know. I would not say it were it not so.”

“Then you think,” Hades is about to ask the obvious question, but for some reason he reconsiders. “So you do not feel sexual desire?” He asks, seemingly settled on that manner of phrasing.

Humming noncommittally, you settle yourself right down on the grass, “I do not feel sexually attracted to other people, no. Why does it matter?”

“Because it means – ”

You hear already the explanation on his lips, something he’s no doubt heard from another, and another, repeated over and over so that it settled in his mind, gently, as a truth. A fact of life like any other, like how it was wrong to gaze upon another’s bare face, how it was inappropriate to don ornate clothing…

“Because,” He begins again, having cut himself off. Now, you watch with faint interest, as he sits down beside you. “Because it means you can never… It sounds to me, hearing it, as though you spurn intimacy. As though you cannot even _want _intimacy, and you must live your whole life only being able to want part of the whole which most others crave.”

Hades must not understand what a cruel thing it is that he says; the words come out from him, halting and stilted.

“And why, pray tell,” You let yourself lie back, let the grass support the whole of you, soft and cool against your back, “Is it a lesser, incomplete love, if I do not look upon someone and want to touch my body to theirs? Is it necessary to want to perform sexual acts upon a person in order to love them?”

“Of course not,” The obvious reply comes, and with it, a meandering understanding, a further hesitation and even a partial withdrawal. “I did not mean… Only, the feeling of a truly intimate relationship – of the love that comes between bonded partners.”

“Love is love, is it not? What you want to _do _with someone, how you spend your time with them; what do they have to do with love, with _caring _for another person?”

“Is that love then not the same love which you feel for friends? Family?” Hades’s question holds no malice; he seeks understanding.

It draws a low hum from you, having long since passed the point of exhaustion with the line of questioning. But still, to explain when you have only yourself so little understanding. No one believed in pain because they were told that pain existed – people believed that pain existed, and that it was bad, because they experienced it for themselves.

Everyone goes through life not knowing things, ignorant. Piecing their own Truth together, bit by bit, finding out what pain and happiness and love meant for them.

The trouble came when two different ideas, definitions, began to collide. Like one idea of what love should be, and another; one absolute ideal enshrined in the minds of many, and a separate experience that most people shared, of longing and desire.

A feeling could not be created where there was one, but perhaps its absence could be imagined by those who possessed it.

In this, although your condition is idealized, those around you fall short. It is one thing to know that love driven by the desire to know and care for a person’s soul is good; it is another thing entirely to imagine that the desire for a person’s body is not necessary, at all. That instead of being _more, _the enshrined ideal of love might involve _less. _

It is not your place to ask him to accept your Truth; but neither are you obliged to accept his.

“Romantic love, platonic love, familial love,” You drone at him, stretching your arms into the air lazily, “All these little words and modifiers attached by one or another; as though they are all different breeds of love, instead of different relationships.”

“Different _kinds _of love,” You say, before he can say himself, “As though love has both quantity and quality, as though it is a vector which might have any given magnitude and the various people you love might be sorted by how much love you have for them, what variety of love it is you hold for them.”

“Well… yes. I know I love some people more than others, and the love I have for many of them is different from the love I have for others.”

“And how do you know that?” Listlessly, you let your arms fall back to the ground, carelessly crashing to your sides. Still, you continue. 

“How do you know it is your _love _which is different? Instead of the fact that you simply want different things from different people, those people make you feel different ways when you are around them, and your relationship with each of them is unique? Why is it your _love _which differs from person to person, instead of each person being loved, and you feel differently about them because they _are _different?”

“I am not… quite sure you are not agreeing with me?” Hades keeps his tone low and respectful; somehow, though he has not moved, his voice almost sounds louder than before. “I feel differently about them – is love not that feeling? And it is of course due to them being different people entirely. How does this prove they are not different kinds of love?”

“You feel more things than love towards the people around you, I assume.” You shift so that you lie on your side, facing him. Immediately, heat gathers between the two of you, from your breaths drawn and exhaled in the same space; though you are an arm’s length apart.

“In the moment, certainly. But when I am away, my feelings _towards _them, unless I am especially upset or pleased by some course of events – those feelings which stay with me when I am not with them, the care and concern I hold for them. That is love, is it not?”

“Indeed.” A solution presents itself easily, Hades walking himself into your own conclusions, without effort on your part. “Then _that, _specifically, is your ‘love’, is it? Tell me, does your care and concern function differently for family and lovers? Do you worry for one in a way you do not worry for another?”

“I most certainly do.” You note the pink dusting on his cheeks, “I worry for my parent’s loneliness, for their personal satisfaction in life. My friends, I worry they will do something foolish, and often they do. From time to time I feel the need to assist them.”

“That does not sound like a different kind of love. It sounds as though they are different people, with different problems, and your concerns reflect that.”

He looks away from you, up into the sky; hood falling back to reveal hair pure and white like moonlight, stark against his robe and the grass. You stare for a moment before you pull your eyes back to what you can see of his face.

“Love is more than just being concerned for someone.”

“Yes, it must be, mustn’t it? It couldn’t be that simple. Such a complex and glorious thing as _love – _you could not state it so clearly as ‘caring for another person’. That doesn’t sound like _enough. _You want it to sound grander, more impressive.”

And now your tone has grown chiding; you try to reign yourself in. “The most powerful things in this world are the things that are the simplest. You would do well to remember that.”

“But!” Beside you, he shoots up, sitting up and looking down at you with his halo of hair surrounding him, bangs faintly falling over his mask, “Even things which are simple can interact with other things in a thousand different ways. To reduce love to such a thing as _worry…”_

“Care can mean more than that,” You say, shifting back to lie on your back, staring upwards.

“Care means that a person’s life is of value you to, that their existence is worth something. It means that of all the people in this world, all the objects, all the ideas and Creations – of all the things in this world there are for you to think about, it is this one person who occupies your mind. There are no different _types _of care, only magnitude, the depth of your caring.”

Hades makes a strange hum you cannot quite identify; a low, smooth note that drones off as it sounds in the cool night air. “Such a definition works as well as hate for as love, you know.”

“Is hatred the opposite of love? Even hatred is a kind of respect you can give to a person’s existence; if you think enough of a person to wish them ill, it means they matter to you. The opposite of love is not hatred, but _indifference._”

A snort. “Would you prefer your loved ones hate you, instead, rather than merely think nothing of you?”

“Wouldn’t _you _rather be something to those you care about, rather than nothing?”

“Sooner should I like to be nothing at all than actively loathed. One opinion is far more easily changed than the other.”

“Hmm,” He tsks at your hum, clearly not entertained. “You might be surprised. Sooner could you change the color of the sky than convince a person to care about something which simply does not move them.”

“But even _that _would be preferable to having one for whom I care for actively wish me ill. How could I ever bear such a thing as their hatred?”

“Is hatred that terrifying a thing?” You stare, up at that vast night sky. A glittering array of stars spread about it, like jewels woven into the purest of blacks. “Do you truly believe most of the world’s woes are caused by malice? Far greater still are the harms caused by apathy, the countless evils great and small that we do in ignorance of the consequences.”

That gets to him, somehow; there’s a pause before he says anything where you know he is trying to come up with something. Some excuse or rebuttal.

“If that is all you think of love, so be it. But it is more than that, to others.” You just barely keep yourself from scoffing at his assertion.

Pitifully clinging onto his own perceptions, his preconceived notions of love – well, that is his prerogative. His Truth. But not yours.

As though you must _love _someone more, to want to touch them romantically; _platonic _love affording less intimacy, familial love affording more intimacy with an imposed distance, the assumption of non-sexuality hanging ever-present in the background.

All these little _facets, _these stipulations and requirements, this ‘it is like that for some people, but not for others’ and ‘it depends on how I particularly think of them’ –

Such a complicated thing, with so many conditions and points of failure and rules and arbitrary lines and boundaries.

It isn’t elegant. It isn’t beautiful.

It isn’t love, not at all.

“What is love to you, then?” Hades asks, face angled towards you so. His lips are calm and unreadable, quite; how you _do _wish you could see his eyes. You’d heard he had good ones…

A sigh, deeply breathed, released from the depths of your chest; were it any cooler outside, you’d expect your breath misting in the night air, but instead it is a gentle, easy chill that greets your open lips.

“Such a thing you ask,” You muse, glancing at him from aside, though he wouldn’t be able to see your eyes move.

“What kind of love do I feel." The voice you hear sounds almost nostalgic; it's almost hard to recognize as your own. "Really, you know, there was a time when I would not be able to answer even that. It is hard enough to even find love in this world. To know love when you feel it. I spent a very long time not knowing how love felt, not having the faintest of interest in feeling it outside of idle curiosity.”

Hades hasn’t stopped looking at you, but his lips press just a bit, an indication of… _something. _His body is facing you and you watch his hands shift by his sides, wayward and meandering.

“Then you have been in love?”

“Yes.”

Silence falls, as you look up at the sky. Maybe he’s looking up too; or perhaps he is watching you. With those eyes of his. Keen vision.

You feel your own eyes tear up, and a rush of gratitude for the mask. For the knowledge that his vision would do little for him, so long as you kept your composure, kept your mind in place. Surely, he won’t ask who.

He doesn’t. “What was it like, then?”

“What is it like…” You let the statement trail off, feel him tense in anticipation, perhaps realization, even. “I am not sure I could tell you what it feels like, the state of _being in love. _If you are in love, are you in love all the time? Is it there, every waking moment – if you can think of anything else, anything at all to fill your mind, do you stop being in love in that moment?”

More somber silence greets you, but you hear him shuffle about on the grass. Your best guess would be that he is lying on his back now, too; to stare up at the sky and stars. That infinite inky blackness, and those ever-bright, ever beautiful stars which twinkled away in the void, unafraid, unaffected by the vast and empty darkness…

“I… can almost not think of them, sometimes,” The admission comes strange to your lips, sounds strange to even your own ears, “It is not as though I do not have a _life. _Going about my day, concerning myself with other matters. Engrossing myself in my studies, in my work. But they – I – ”

You take a deep breath. Love, you’re talking about love. Not the _one _you…

“My love is…”

What did you feel, what was it that made it _love, _specifically? Love, as distinct from other feelings, and a love more intense, more powerful, simply _greater _than the love your held for others; but only greater, and not different, not unique.

“I want to be with them.” The words come spilling out, now; they fall from your lips unbidden.

“I want to talk to them. I want to hear everything they have to say, ever; everything they say is interesting because they say it. Somehow, I am always happy to talk, somehow, I am always smiling, always feeling pleased to see them, I cannot even think of them without that ever-present warmth behind it – that bare, pleasant feeling in my chest, just to think of them at all.”

Hades beside you shifts again. You hear something that might be his arms folding and unfolding at his sides, the soft folds of communal robes gently rustling with the movement.

“I want to know everything about them. I want to see every part of them! Everything they have to offer, everything they are. I want to know what they like, what they dislike, why they feel it. Their inner hopes and dreams, their desires and fears, I want to hear all about it. How they feel about me, how they _feel, _all the time. I want to hear everything! I want to talk more and more, forever, I want them to talk to me, forever! I want to know their mind, their heart, in every way.”

“Are you sure…” Hades says, and then looks away, you can _feel _his gaze sliding off, sliding away. “Then, what you speak of… the intimacy of souls?”

A choked laugh escapes you, but you manage to let it sound for but a moment, muffling it quickly.

“The intimacy of souls, you say!” There’s nothing you can do to keep your voice from sounding bitter, ironic, steeped with mockery. “Because that’s the only way you can know another person’s heart, yes? How terribly sad, how hollow and worthless you make out human interaction to be – how meaningless words and language and communication are, if they can never truly express what a person feels inside.”

“A mind is not such an easy thing to express.” The response comes quickly, deft and certain, “The weight of a soul – the totality of human experience – ‘tis a grand and mysterious thing, still. For all our research and combined intellect and accumulated knowledge, detailed writing, perfect imagery and reproduced noise; none of these things can truly express what it is like to be alive, to be a _person, _with all the thoughts and feelings and accompanying sensations.”

Against your will, you find your lips twitching, “I should hope we all already know what it’s like to be a living person.”

“You know what it is like to be _one _living person.” Hades says, in a correctional tone that has you wishing you could glare at him. “You can only _truly _experience things through your own senses, your own perception. There is no way to know how something feels – tastes – _sounds – _to any other person. However many words are used to describe it, the experience itself, how it really _was _for another person – that cannot be communicated. Not without the fusion between souls.”

You pause; this is something not so easily refuted. This is the Hades, then, that Hythlodaeus had spoken so highly of; an analytical and perceptive man, indeed…

“Experiences exist only in the moment, you know.” You say gently, tilting your head to the side, feeling your hair muss against your hood. “All that inexplicable, inexpressible sentiment you describe – it is not a thing that exists outside one’s current consciousness. And the truly wonderful thing is that we all have our own – one which is constantly changing, however unique it is. It is not outside the realm of possibility that one might be able to _imagine _another experience, no? One that they perhaps have not felt for themselves, or simply hadn’t felt the same way as another.”

“Imagination will never perfectly mimic an existing experience. How another person feels can never be so accurately guessed or imagined. Of course it is possible to do, sometimes, with enough honesty and openness, but without sharing one’s soul directly, there is no way to truly know the experience you imagine is what another person has – or _is _– living through.”

“Ah!” Therein lies the problem with such philosophical debates, especially ones which relied so much upon the mind as a subject of scrutiny in itself. “But do you not claim that that experiences only exist in our minds, anyways? Vision, sight and sound – all of those are simply our own mind’s interpretation of our senses; the representation is constructed by the mind to make sense of signals that themselves only indirectly reflect the actual reality. We are all of us living already in our own minds.”

Hades makes a noise to interrupt you, and you pause for him, turning your head to watch his impassioned response.

“If we are all in our own minds – then are we not isolated? Alone? Islands unto ourselves, adrift amidst a reality of which we have only the most tenuous understanding? Even if we _perceive _the world around us, and feel as though these perceptions are accurate, they are not direct reflections of any actually existing reality. They are reflections of how the mind is able to interpret the senses. Such a thing, so perfectly unique to each individual – how could such a thing _ever _be truly replicated?”

That has you laugh. “Such empiricism! Attended a few of Lahabrea’s lectures, have we?”

Hades blushes _audibly. _“That is _not _a counterargument.”

“So it is not.” Your lips twist into a smile, “With an argument like that, _well._ I suppose my first point should be to prove that other people exist at all, since you are so alone and adrift in nothingness.”

“The heart of the idea is that even _that _cannot be proven.” He turns to you, masked gaze meeting masked gaze. “It cannot be confirmed, not in any way that is true and certain, that another person exists in the same way I do myself.”

“That depends on what definition you have for _confirmed_. For example,” Tilting your face to watch his attention focus on you, you continue, “Do you feel that you are alone right now?”

The red on his cheeks really does stand out with how pale his skin is. Lips dark like bruises purse together before they open.

“I should hope you have a better basis to pose for philosophical Truth than _feeling_.”

“Ah, but that’s what this all was about, no?” Your tongue darts out to wet your lips on habit, air fresh and light to the taste. “How all we have to detect the world around us is our senses? Subjective senses, which our own minds interpret for us to build the images, the sounds and sensations that we live our lives in?”

“Perception may be subjective, but it is yet a less nebulous concept than feeling. Such abstract things as loneliness and love,” There’s a pause, there; faint, but you feel it, as Hades’s mind whirls through the implications and the memories of what’s been said in conversation, “It is utter nonsense just to say because one feels a thing, that justifies some conclusion about the nature of humanity.”

“And yet still you won’t say you feel alone.” The words come out easily, almost as easily as your eager stare, ready to watch him shift and grumble under the pressure of debate. “In fact – you won’t even say that you _are _alone, will you? Because for all your insistence about Truth, the way you _feel _about the world – the way you really, truly feel, doesn’t seem like a feeling at all. You don’t feel like you aren’t really alive, you don’t feel like you are alone, not any more than you feel the sky is green or that the sun rises in the north. Feeling is as much a part of the human experience as anything else; and if we are all islands unto ourselves, then what else have we to base our conclusions off of?”

“Those feelings are built off perceptions,” He rebuts, settling his back against the grass again, unable to bear the weight of your gaze. “Ones that, as I have been repeating, are unique to every individual. If anything, it makes us all even further apart; yet the slightest difference in sensation during an experience will invoke feelings even further separated, and the differences never truly reconciled – not unless the experience can be truly duplicated, and how are we to do that, when each person’s mind interprets their senses in a way particular to their mind?”

“What a sad conclusion to come to.” You reach up, looking at your hand against the wide spread of the night sky; those infinitely small points glimmering away in the void, that perfect near-blue blackness that could not swallow these lights, vast as it was.

So faraway, and yet to see your hand against it – it’s absurd and unfitting, but maybe, just maybe…

Fingers close around nothing, cool breeze slipping through your fingers.

…Maybe, just maybe, if you could reach far enough, if you stretched as far as you could and gave it your all, maybe you could just…

Grasp it…

“To think that human beings cannot truly understand one another,” The idea slips from your lips without your thinking about it, “To think that I can never make you understand what I mean when I say ‘love’ – that I can never understand what _you _mean when you say it. Isn’t that… a bit too sad?”

“There is no such thing as ‘too sad’,” Hades says, but his voice is lower now, “It is not as though the universe assigns such moral judgments – _too good, too bad, _before the consequence of a series of events falls into place. Cause and effect simply chain together in accordance with the natural laws of this star, immutable and indifferent. The concept of _caring _is as far beyond them as it is for a stone, or gravity. There is no sadness or rightness in the way the world is – it simply _is.”_

“We’re not talking about the way the world is. We’re talking about the way our minds are, what we can believe is true, what we believe is possible.”

“You said yourself – if we believe a thing is true, that is simply the way the world _is, _to us. You do not _think _the sky is blue – you _know _it is. Every belief you feel is true is afforded that certainty, even though it is always possible for it to be wrong.”

“If you’re going to draw such distinction between reality and our beliefs about it, then – that means there is a separate set of truths about reality, ones that govern our own minds.”

Hades hums lowly, but says nothing; the sound of the air rustling through the grass fills your ears. Gentle sounds, peaceful sounds – as still and pleasant as that view of up above.

It must be even more beautiful, through _his _eyes. What does it look like, what must he see…

“Truths like – _I love you, I want to be with you, I am happy. _These things are true under only certain conditions, and those conditions are different for every person. Upon that we can agree.”

He bristles beside you, calmness flowing into stillness; the facet of an argument is easy to recognize, especially now that you have been talking for a while.

“But clearly you know of _something _named love, and you know of a word for it, and you use that word to tell other people what you mean. Even if ‘love’ is different from one person to another – the word couldn’t exist if there wasn’t something that people couldn’t all agree on about it.”

“Yes,” He says shortly, “To use the word ‘love’.”

“Oh, but if that is all they agreed on, then how do you know so well what I mean? How did you know I meant ‘the intimacy of souls’ without my saying it?”

“I thought you said you did not mean that?”

“I did. But I do not believe such intimacy can only be achieved through aetheric means. It _has _to be possible to understand someone – to _know _someone, to love them so – without such a direct means of conveying thoughts and sensations.”

“No, it does not.” When he sighs beside you, you turn to see he has looked back towards you once more. “Nothing _has _to be any particular way. The world simply is the way it is, the tools we have to understand this world, and each other, are all we have. We are not _owed _a greater means or way of understanding the world or the people around us.”

“No, we’re not,” You say, crossing your arms to hold yourself. It’s not quite cold outside, but there’s a chill that’s seeped into your bones – or perhaps a warmth that has leeched out from them… “But that does not mean the tools we have at our disposal are so totally useless. Nor that we cannot extract Truth from them, indirect and variable as they are; out there somewhere there _is _a reality, there _are _other people and other minds – ones we might believe in, and understand.”

“And the way we do that is by using our _own _minds.” It’s not quite a snap, but he makes his assertion with confidence, almost aggression. “When you want to know how another person feels about a situation – you do not model another human mind out of nothing in your head. You use your own mind’s patterns of thought and reactions, ask yourself how you would feel in the situation, and that reaction you imagine yourself having, you assign to that other person. Ultimately, it all comes from oneself.”

“But other people can think things that we don’t.” You say, staring up, and up, finally feeling the coolness setting into your cheeks. Staring upwards anyways, watching in stillness at the heavens above, so vast and beautiful, and indifferent. “You can tell me an idea I have never thought of and would never have thought of on my own. Of course, you can make the debate that I could have _possibly _imagined it myself, under the right circumstances – but the point is that I could gain from you an understanding I did not have before, and if my mind did not create that, then another mind must have, no?”

There is no easy response, no rebuttal; especially in such a thing as debate, where ideas are exchanged and tugged this way and that. You have well and truly cornered him. An aside glance proves he’s sat up, looking away; but instead of looking down or at the surroundings, his eyes are still on the sky. Fixed on a beauty both impossible and distant.

“And is this your evidence?” He asks softly. “That is enough to say that you can really, truly understand what another person is feeling and thinking? Even though you know we are all lost amidst ourselves; just understanding one’s own mind is hard enough. Knowing _why _you make the decisions you make, why you believe the things you believe; there are entire _studies _dedicated to such things. We can argue over and over about such simple things as truth, or whether or not we can even communicate our experiences to one another, so deep and multifaceted as they are. The mind is a vast thing, vaster than any imagining…”

You sit there in silence, looking up at the stars with him. Or rather, separately, with separate experiences.

How much more beautiful must it be, seeing aether along with light? How they _glimmer, _pure and bright. There is no shape or density to them, no weight and no Form; they are mere points of light, perfect and unchanging. They are things purely of light, existing in only one dimension, just a gleaming spark to mark their presence…

So strange, to imagine how vast they are, up close… how very very far away they must all be, to look so tiny to your infinitely smaller eyes, to your tiny form on this world flying through space without a care or control on your part.

Your hand against that backdrop, the endless expanse of stars and the light they flooded the dark sky with – it looks so out of place. Untouchable, not meant for human hands, let alone your own, small and reaching up and grasping towards the ever distant heavens.

Tears prickle in your eyes, chilling you like tiny droplets of ice. Your hand feels cold.

It’s beautiful. It’s still so beautiful, those billions of tiny points of light, the endless sea of stars strewn about with no rhyme or reason, there as the result of a thousand chains of cause an effect. Moving and orbiting without a care, according to the laws of an indifferent universe, shining so beautifully anyways, in that impossibly large void.

Logically you know it must look different, his vision being what it is; Hythlodaeus having said…

But it’s beautiful anyways. How would he describe it? What does he see? If you asked, if he answered, would you really _know? _For all you might wish otherwise, there is a Truth to his argument; to hear a thing, imagine it, even to know it in excruciating detail – they are all different from actually _seeing. _

What you wouldn’t give for his eyes, his vision. But to think that all the words exchanged had not gotten _anything _across – that they had meant _nothing _at all –

It can’t be so. The sky you see, the sky he sees, they may be different, but they cannot be _so _different, surely…

Surely, if he could just speak of it – if he could describe it well enough – he could paint a picture with his words, or with paint, or any other sort of image – surely –

Surely, you are not all so far apart, so alone in this world…

Surely, you could know what it was like for him… you could understand one another, if you just tried… if you both tried…

“I’m sure,” You aren’t. “It is still possible… somehow… if we try enough, I’m sure, we could understand one another. You could know another person, the way you know yourself. You could know what they think, know how they feel, if you just try. I’m sure I could say how I feel, I could tell someone and make them understand… I’m sure I could understand someone, if they just explained to me what it is like for them…”

“You mean to tell me you think all of human experience can be expressed in _words?_” The question comes, biting, even though it is asked with relatively innocuous scholarly intent, “All the innumerable things that take place in your mind – such diverse arrays of emotion and perception, of sensation and logic and the processing of feelings. How different it all is – no substance in this world is capable of thought like we are, no material can produce a soul, no such things as logic or ideas may arise from aught but our own minds. But you think you can translate the totality of that consciousness through words to another person, so that they might interpret it somehow, with their own particular senses, to mean what you _want _it to mean.”

…And still, he’d understood what you’d meant this well.

“But words are an invention of the mind,” You find ground without realizing it, feeling more and more righted as you speak. “Words are _meant_ for this_, _they exist for the sole purpose of expressing human thought and emotion. That is what they were Created to do – and you think a human mind, in all its glory, is ultimately incapable of expressing itself.”

“I…” Taken aback, you hear him grumble in a way that sounds almost reflective. “…Is this what you believe, because of your love? So you reject the bonding of souls, as well as physical intimacy?”

You laugh, though you don’t feel it deep in yourself. “What a question to ask! My, you are full of salacious inquiries today.”

“That is not an answer.” What a bold man; so terribly pointed in his insistence, even as it sets his face aflame.

“As I have said, it is not quite that I would reject any of that… I do not actively _want _bodily intimacy, I suppose, but other than that I simply… To think that the only way to know another’s soul is by having ours fused together so – I don’t like it.”

“It is not about it being the _only _way,” You hear him bite back his opinion on the matter, “It is about your love, no? You said you wanted to know everything about them – and then you scorned the practice of soul bonding, mocking the idea that it was necessary to truly know one’s partner. You said you wanted to know all of them, still – you intend to do that, just by speaking?”

Hades paused, for a moment, as though to think on what he’d just said. You, for your part, have no interest in it, no interest in what he might be led to conclude.

“Is there a reason I cannot?” What he’d say, you already knew, but if he wanted to keep insisting it was impossible, he could come out and say it outright.

“That is what intimacy is _for,” _He says, instead of engaging, avoiding the bait on the hook like any good debater ought to, “What it is _meant _for, as you like to put. Words can be exchanged in many ways, but they have no innate connotations of closeness or affection; not the way physical or aetheric intimacy does. The bonding of souls has no further purpose than the very ends which you wish to fulfill with your partner – your _love, _as it were.”

Your throat grows tight, your chest heavy. “I do not want to _have _to do this, just because I am in love.”

“You _want _to do this-” Catching himself, shaking his head, he starts again, “All of the desires you express would be fulfilled, if you engaged in it. But in any case, it matters not. Why are you so determined to achieve intimacy through words, instead of actions?”

It cuts you to the quick – he does not debate your desires, does not bother telling you that you should do it. Instead, he _asks, _he wants to know, why you feel the way you do…

“You think I have something to prove?”

“I think _you think _you have something to prove. Love is – whatever you think love is, you cannot possibly believe it is a contest. It matters not how you become close to the one you love, what you enjoy doing together, and how – only that your love is mutual and you are satisfied with your relationship.”

Taking a deep breath of cool night air, chilling your lungs for but a heartbeat before you let it go. Again, you expect to see it mist before your eyes, fog up the starry sky, but the air is as clear as ever, transparent as crystal.

“What if what I enjoy _is _speaking to them? That is much of what we do, you know. With friends, loves, and family. There’s physical gestures, there’s favors, and then there’s words. That’s really all we do for one another, in the end.”

“Two of those categories are significantly less broad than the last.”

“Fair enough.” You twine your hands in the grass, feeling cool blades wreathing through your fingers. “But do they not cover the whole spectrum of interactions?”

“_Words _covers a ridiculously broad spectrum of interactions.” Hades does not seem to know how he digs his whole, proves your own point, until he goes well along with it, “All manner of teaching and communication. Reassurance and humor and even many forms of creative expression – though you might note some forms of art are not included in your categories – as well as _anything _that is spoken-”

“You understand, now,” Interrupting him for the first time, your mood slightly lifted, you deign to condescend with a touch of amusement, “Why I feel as though words hold so great and meaningful a weight.”

“That should make them worth less, and not more.”

“What, that we use them so often?” You feel your lips twist into something that someone might call a smile, “That only means we get better and better at expressing ourselves with them, no?”

Cowed once more, Hades heaves a great sigh, as though you have put upon him terribly. “What is it you want to say so badly, then, to this love of yours?”

And suddenly, once again, it all just starts spilling from you easily, flowing and flowing.

“I want to tell them all about myself. Tell them how I’ve been, how my life has been, hear them laugh and cry over the things that have happened to me, hear them tell me what they think – what they _think. _I could hear their thoughts forever. Every word is so precious to me, so dear; I only want to hear more and more of it. Always.”

“But…” True confusion sounds in his voice, notes of pondering in his lilting, pleasant cadence, “If you feel this – and if you feel _this way, _then surely, you must know that this love is not the love you feel for your friends and family, for others.”

“Is it?” You ask, without really knowing the answer. “Maybe it is. Or maybe it’s just a _stronger _kind of love, _more _love, a love truer and deeper than the others I have held so far.”

“Do you love your family less than this treasured person of yours, then? And your friends? Would you do more for this person than for any other so close to you?”

You scoff at him, “Is love measured by what you are willing to do for someone, then?”

“Far better a measure than by what you want from them.” Retorting easily, Hades stretches his arms out, as though he, too, means to grasp at those distant points of light in that unending dark sky. “By what you want for them. All Truth must be verified, or at least supported by observations. If it is true that you love someone, then there should be evidence of it. If all you have to show for this love of yours is that you _say _you feel these things, you want these things… then what proof is there it truly exists?”

“What sort of evidence would _you _accept?” You snap, voice grown hard and biting as feeling swell and swell, to the brim.

His arms drift, slowly, away from the sky, as though he means to take it in a greater grasp; but they, too, fall apart, soft against the grass. “We return to my original point – intimacy. Of souls, of flesh, it matters not; the baring of one’s truest self is an innate part of love, of being in love.”

Suddenly you feel… sick.

It seems there is more of you invested in this – in this _conversation, _than there should be.

“So you mean that you are only in love if you want intimacy? Is that it?” Even saying the words, your stomach seems to churn, your chest heavy and heavy. You can’t seem to look up, right now; pulling your chin down, sitting up, you wrap your arms about your knees and fix your eyes on your own unassuming black robes.

“No, but the _desire _for intimacy – the wanting to be with another person, be it near to their heart, their soul, their body – that is proof of love. Did you not say as much, describing your love – how you wanted to be close to them, to know them so well and truly?”

Things you’ll never see, things that are not for you and never will be, an _incomplete _love… it’s not why, it’s not the reason, you know that but –

But it’s still –

“And how else might it be evidenced by the desire being professed? And if professed – why not fulfilled?”

Why not fulfilled, indeed. If he does not know by now…

“The appropriate answer, of course, is that the feeling is _not _mutual.” Hades’s voice grows low, and cold, and somehow heated with a deep rage all at once, “Such as with Hythlodaeus.”

Heartstrings tug as he stands to leave, brushing grass off his robes and striding forth in one fluid motion. Quickly, he moves, as fast as your heart pounding in your chest – so quick, like before – this tightening in your throat, your ribcage, your chest _aches – _

No. No, no, no.

“Stop!”

You dart forward to hold his wrist as he walks off – quite the breach of etiquette, but you cannot let him – to leave like this is –

“Tell me what _really _happened.” It’s a quiet, subdued command, but a tone that brooks no argument. If you intend to dance around the subject, he will take his leave. “Between you and Hythlodaeus.”

No

no no no

“That story is not mine alone to-”

“Hythodaeus would not tell me!” Hades spun on you, his voice rising to a normal volume but tight with fury and frustration, “He said it was _your _right to divulge or not to, considering the circumstances. That it wasn’t his _place _to speak of it! To _me, _his closest friend and companion. He has been troubled for weeks for this – and it is because of _you, _because of your mystery love who you rejected him for!”

You swallow, hard, taking a step back, feeling your cheeks heat.

No no no no. why do you have to talk about it. why now. why do you have to.

You were doing so good. Not thinking about it.

“You,” Licking your lips – why is your mouth so dry? – it’s cool outside, in the night air, but now the soft black communal robes feel so stifling and hot, “You came up to me just to ask… this? Was that all you wanted from me?”

Lips fall from their tight line into looseness, slightly parted in realization and wilting along with his posture. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, tension present but forbidden any release.

“Hythlodaeus is a dear friend. I would know the cause of his – ”

“I did not reject his advances. Hythlodaeus rejected me. He was very kind about it, and we still consider one another to be friends. I will tell him I have told you so.”

Like a world turning, spinning about an axis amid a field of endless stars, his mind rushes to comprehend - the meaning - what you must have meant when - 

Why, Hades wants to ask, and of course you _know _that, you must know what’s going through his mind, the obvious questions. But you provide no immediate answers; therefore, you are uncomfortable expressing any more on the topic. That, he is willing to respect, but – he has been unfair – to say such –

You are gone as soon as he looks up to try and meet your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're out there and you're ace, reading about all this love and sex in fanfic, enjoying all these wonderful stories of cosmic intimacy and romance, and wondering what it all means for you, because you think all of this is beautiful but how could you ever get anything like it in real life, when you've never looked at another human being and wanted to have sex with them, and can't even IMAGINE wanting that...
> 
> If you're out there and you're thinking that, too; I don't have the answers, either. But I know who does, and so do you. We all find our own Truth, we build it up over our lives, based on experiences and knowledge and our own personal take on things. You don't know all the answers now, but you can make them. Just know that this is, and will always be, YOUR Truth. No one else can tell you what it is, and it can never be wrong - not unless you decide it is, yourself. And if you do - then that's okay. The Truth can change.


End file.
